


Adventures in Microwave Sales

by bitochondria



Category: Miami Vice (TV)
Genre: (not like 'incapable of consent' drunk just giggly and buzzed), Ambiguous Orientation Rico Tubbs, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bisexual Sonny Crockett, Canon-Typical Behavior, Drunk Sex, Drunkenness, Episode: s02e08 Bushido, Explicit Sexual Content, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Oral Sex, POV Third Person Limited, Period Typical Attitudes, Pining, Porn with Feelings, Reasonably Canon Compliant, Sonny is afraid he might not be able to keep things casual, Sonny is also definitely depressed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:08:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25671088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bitochondria/pseuds/bitochondria
Summary: Castillo's uncharacteristic interest in socializing after the death of Jack Gretzky gets Crockett thinking about Tubbs, regret, and what their friendship-- and an offer Tubbs made him-- really means to him. Rain on the roof of a taxi cab becomes the soundtrack to a realization: life's too short not to have sex with your best friend.(Works as a standalone fic, but also works as a follow-up toAshes in a Goldfish Bowl,Gas Station Confessional, andUnnecessary Medicine.)
Relationships: Sonny Crockett/Ricardo Tubbs
Comments: 11
Kudos: 15





	Adventures in Microwave Sales

Why he had said  _ no _ , when all he had really wanted for months was his hands on his skin, his lips against his stubble: that had been the background question of Sonny’s life for the past— what was it— two weeks? Every time Tubbs looked at him, the panic spread through his limbs, cold and viscous, and he felt vaguely compelled to drive off a pier. Of course they had been doing an admirable job of pretending the conversation had never happened, which was good in some ways, but also meant Sonny hadn’t had a single chance to renege on his rejection. 

Tubbs had proffered the idea, and Sonny had felt the lights go out in his brain before muttering something stupid and awkward like ‘I need time to think about it.’ 

Maybe it had been the shock, or the fear that saying yes might make him come off as desperate, or the whisper at the back of his neck accusing:  _ have you ever managed casual, Crockett? _ Either way, he had spent the last two weeks vacillating between self-flagellation and continued disbelief that one Mr. Ricardo Tubbs wasn’t completely straight. 

And now Crockett was drunk, camped out on an increasingly uncomfortable bar stool, seated at the right hand of his commanding officer. Tubbs, eyes soft, something pink and deadly in his hand, sat to their taciturn lieutenant’s left. Castillo, as it turned out, blinked about fifty percent more when he was drunk, and talked about ten percent more, but was otherwise indistinguishable from sober. Eye contact and small talk remained elusive.

There was a whiff of surrealism to the proceedings, and Crockett kept trying to piece together the joke.  _ Three men walk into a bar _ … Or rather, he drafted,  _ two undercover vice cops and an ex-spook walk into a bar _ … Or perhaps:  _ A closested bisexual, his gorgeous partner, and their boss walk walk into a bar _ …

…And then, instead of a punchline, they spent the next three hours getting progressively drunker, speaking in hushed tones and weary metaphor about Vietnam and corruption and brotherhood and crime. Swapping tales of woe, trading pains for a moment of recognition. The spectre of Jack Gretzky loomed, his deeds a sword over Castillo’s head, his death a dagger in his side. 

Crockett wondered who Castillo had been, once, with Jack. The way they had embraced each other— the way that Castillo had smiled, genuinely— spoke of a different man than the grave commander they knew.

He glanced at Rico’ hands, fingertips grazing his sweating glass. He must’ve felt his eyes on him, because he looked down at his drink and then back up to Crockett, over the back of Castillo’s shoulders. It was a look he had given him for a long time— over the bridge of his nose, chin tilted up just slightly, eyelashes fanned low, a knowing half-smile on his lips. Not during the earliest days of their partnership. Definitely more often, recently. Up until Tubbs’ proposition, Sonny had always read the expression as affectionate but slightly smug. Nothing amorous about it. 

But now he wondered if that was a misinterpretation. If a woman— or a man he had known was queer— looked at him like that, would he take it as a come-on? Had Tubbs’ eyes been on him more often as of late? Had he been missing all the signals because he had long ago convinced himself Tubbs had to be staunchly heterosexual?

Castillo cleared his throat and Tubbs’ eyebrows shifted upwards briefly, almost suggestively, before he pulled his eyes from Crockett’s face. 

Moustache twitching to one side briefly, Castillo sipped the last of his drink and placed the glass gingerly in the center of the bar coaster. He looked down at his hands.

“It’s late.” He looked up, past the bar, past the bottles along the wall, into some unknown space a league in the distance. “I should probably go home.”

“I’m still surprised you didn’t go home after the hospital,” Tubbs sighed, the end trilling into tipsy laughter. They had brought Castillo to have his goddamn  _ stab wound _ looked at after leaving the island, but he had insisted he was still ‘up for that drink’ after he was bandaged and discharged. 

Castillo shrugged, just barely. Crockett tried to remember if he had ever seen him shrug before. Reaching into the pockets of his slim black slacks, he muttered, “I wouldn’t be any less injured there than here.” He slapped a stack of bills to the bar surface and tucked the corner under his empty glass.

Although Crockett wasn’t quite sure whether the lieutenant had been trying to be funny or not, he was nonetheless clearly and thoroughly sloshed. A sober Castillo wouldn’t admit he was injured at all, even in jest. In fact, he hadn’t mentioned being stabbed until they had walked all the way back across the bridge, and Tubbs had squinted at him kind of funny and asked if he was bleeding. 

“I don’t think it’s a great idea for any of us to drive,” Crockett admitted, nevertheless loath to leave his car overnight. “Lemme go call a cab.”

Castillo shook his head. “I’ll walk. Fresh air’ll be good.”

Crockett glanced at Tubbs out of the corner of his eye, and Tubbs smiled and shrugged with one shoulder.

Something warm and sticky and toxic and  _ sweet  _ settled in the pit of Sonny’s stomach as he looked at his partner’s face, just a little blurry-eyed and shiny-cheeked.

He had to tell him.

Crockett pulled out his wallet and fingered the bills, trying to tabulate his costs over the course of the evening. “Rico.”

Tubbs looked at his wallet. “You need a loan, partner?”

“Nah,” Crockett spat— not angry, just sloppy. He needed a cup of coffee. “You remember that offer you made me a few weeks ago?”

Tubbs blinked like a hummingbird’s wings, his eyes darting briefly to Castillo as he affected a look of strained jocularity. “Uh… Yup.”

“That still available?” He placed his money on the bar and whistled for the bartender. 

Tubbs’ expression shifted by degrees from trepidation to surprise to grinning conspiracy. “Yeah, absolutely.” 

Crockett nodded like he was selling an old car. “Great. F’you wanna stop by before you go home, we can work it out.” He rose from his stool, leaning backwards to stretch.

Castillo looked at him, and then at Tubbs, with a sort of silent, restrained alarm that Crockett translated as ‘this better not be illegal.’ 

Crockett slapped Castillo on the back, feigning drunker than he was. “No worries, Marty, he’s just got a microwave I wanna buy off him. We ain’t takin’ the drug trade recreational.”

Tubbs looked at the floor as he stood up from the bar. He tucked his cash under his glass, failing majestically to maintain a neutral expression. Hands in his pockets, biting down on a smile, his eyes darted briefly to Crockett, and then to the door.

They walked to the front of the bar, Castillo still between them. Tubbs hit the door first, and swung it open into a sheet of rain. 

At some point, it had started pouring. 

Tubbs closed the door again and grinned at Castillo. “So how about that cab?”

Castillo blinked, slowly, like his eyelids weren’t used to the motion. 

Then he nodded, very slightly. 

Crockett nodded in return and sidled up to the payphone. He called for two taxis— one to Castillo’s, and one to the marina. 

When the first cab pulled up, Castillo insisted that Crockett and Tubbs take it. They argued, briefly, as the cabbie looked at his watch, but eventually capitulated. Even stabbed and drunk, there was no arguing with the lieutenant. He thanked them for a ‘fine evening,’ and they all waved, buzzed and awkward, as Crockett got in on one side and Tubbs the other. 

“Where to?”

Crockett gave the cabbie the address for the docks. The cab pulled away from the curb with a wet grinding slosh, and squeaked into gear. 

Tubbs turned to Crockett and gave him a long, hard, inscrutable stare. 

“A microwave, huh?”

Crockett snorted with laughter. Trying to play it cool, he draped his arm around Tubbs’ shoulder. Friendly-like. Casual enough so that the cab driver would think they were just drunken assholes. 

“So what made you change your mind?” Tubbs questioned, tone light. He watched the road as his hand came to rest hot on Crockett’s knee.

“Nothing,” Crockett half-lied. “I told you when you asked, I just needed a little time to think it all through.” 

Some of it had been processing time. But the final weight that pushed the scale from “bad idea” to “but let’s do it anyway” had been Gretzky. Castillo had talked— a little bit, before suddenly looking deep into his drink and clamming up— about the philosophy they had shared. The ‘way of the warrior,’ and the devotion between brothers-in-arms. Emotionally unreadable at the best of times, Castillo’s quiet recounting of their friendship had been so affectless it may as well have been a computer recording. It hurt to listen to. 

Whether or not Castillo’s feelings were brotherly or something else was immaterial; he had loved the man, and judging by the fact that Gretzky had  _ named his son after Castillo _ , the affection had been mutual. Crockett had started thinking through his own feelings and his own fears. He had come up with a lot of excuses for why it was a bad idea to take Tubbs up on his offer—  _ you shouldn’t sleep with your coworkers, if they got caught they’d lose their jobs, they’d have to do a lot more lying to the other squad members _ — but his real fear was pretty singular. Crockett had to admit to himself that what he was  _ really _ scared of was that somehow he’d screw up their friendship. 

But, he had mused, sucking on an ice cube, if the bond between Castillo and Gretzky could weather death, defection, and the combined forces of the CIA and the KGB, perhaps Crockett and Tubbs could handle a little hanky-panky. 

_So long_ , Crockett thought, picturing Gretzky’s half-smile as he fell lead-heavy to the tile, _I suppose,_ _as neither of us ever has to perform a mercy killing._

Even that wasn’t all bad, really. In the grand scheme of things, at your best friend’s hands wasn’t the worst way to go. 

“Well,” Tubbs interrupted his reverie, “I’m glad to hear it, because I was starting to feel like maybe I had lost my touch.” He continued to look out the front windshield as he spoke, but he couldn’t banish the smile from his lips.

Crockett snorted. “What, has everyone else you’ve ever asked just agreed without question?” 

Tubbs turned his head, brows furrowed very slightly, lips a little pursed. “Yeah, pretty much.” His eyebrows shot up and he closed his eyes, a haughty tilt to his chin. “I’m a very charming and attractive man.”

Crockett smacked his shoulder with his free hand, because the other option was to kiss him here in the cab. They were being obvious enough as it was.

“Things every microwave salesman needs to be,” Crockett sighed, tongue firmly in cheek. He tried to remind Tubbs of the driver with the arc of his eyes.

Tubbs’ response was to close the slider on the plexiglass partition.

“That just makes it more suspicious,” Crockett protested, very quietly.

“Nothing suspicious,” he whispered, and then raised his volume as he continued, “about wanting to talk over a business deal without anyone overhearing. Just polite, man.” He gestured at the cabbie through the tinted window. “He doesn’t need to hear about your financial situation.” The look in his eyes was distinctly not  _ fiscal. _

“Okay, but… I don’t really think we can discuss any specifics of our  _ deal _ at the moment, Rico. There’s only so many ways you can stretch a metaphor before it breaks.”

“Alright,” Tubbs nodded, mouth pulled a little to one side, “I concede.” He leaned into Crockett’s arm a little, drowsy, and stretched his legs out as far as they’d go in the limited cab space. As he relaxed into Crockett, way too familiar for public consumption, Crockett’s heart made a valiant attempt to climb up his esophagus and shimmy its way past his pharyngeal sphincter.

A year and two months had passed since they became partners. Not that he had been counting the hours. Crockett hadn’t exactly  _ liked _ Tubbs from the moment they met, although it only took a couple of days for him to change his tune on that. But the attraction had been there from the start— he recalled that first case, investigating Calderone, thinking of Tubbs as “the handsome asshole.” Since last spring, however, mere ‘attraction’ didn’t really seem to cover it anymore. Wanting Rico had become the background noise of his life— a pastel static ache.

And now they were in a cab together, stitched up side-to-side, rain hitting the roof of the car like a monsoon cancíon. Impossible to even begin to process. So goddamn romantic it felt like a trick. 

Head against Crockett’s shoulder, curls brushing his neck, Tubbs sighed, “Today was  _ real _ fuckin’ weird, man.” 

“I’ll tell ya’,” Crockett agreed, finding his voice in the comfortable patter of shop talk, “I never saw Rodriguez pull a samurai sword on anyone.” 

“I’ve never seen  _ any  _ cop pull a samurai sword before today.” Tubbs blinked, his long eyelashes fanning together. “In the past few weeks I think I’ve had more completely novel experiences than in my entire career in New York.”

“You mean you never dealt with the KGB or voodoo zombies or…” He tried to think back to some of the more recent shocking encounters they had had. That Rico had nearly died a few weeks ago had kind of shaken anything less serious than that loose from his brain. “...incestuous drug orgies on the mean streets of,” he overenunciated, “N-Y-C?” 

Tubbs shook his head, amusement and disbelief warring on his features. “The one time my squad had a run-in with people we thought  _ might _ be KGB-adjacent, we were taken off the case and it was handed over to the feds.” He looked up at Crockett and blinked, slowly, grey-hazel eyes splashed with glitter from the neon lights outside. “None of this was really what I was expecting when you asked me if I was interested in ‘southern law enforcement.’”

“What, just because we all have brain damage from the heat stroke?”

Smirking, Tubbs licked his lips. He left spaces between his words, slowly diagnosing the whole of Florida with a pronouncement of: “Fried egg brain.”

Crockett watched Tubbs’ face, his thumb rubbing soft circles on his shoulder. Tubbs kept looking at him with unblinking intensity, too stark and too honest for the back of a cab. Not for the first time, Crockett found himself wondering if maybe fucking his best friend was actually kind of a bad idea. 

“Speaking of fried egg brain,” he changed the subject, “how you feeling?”

Tubbs closed one eye and made a bit of a duck face. “Hm. Little more than buzzed, little less than sloshed?” 

“No,” Crockett shook his head. “I mean, y’know.” He shrugged. “Voodoo zombies, fish poison, fire hallucinations?” 

“Oh,  _ that. _ ” Tubbs rolled his eyes. But then he took a slow breath in through his nose and looked at Crockett from below his brows, not quite a glare. “S’been three full days since the last time I saw something that wasn’t there.”

He had been very cagey about everything Legba and tetrodotoxin-related since that first night after the arrest. Crockett had let slip how shaken the experience had left him, and Tubbs had dropped the ol’ let’s-have-casual-sex-as-friends bomb, and then they had both gotten awkward and quiet about either topic for the rest of the week. Once a day Crockett had asked Tubbs how he was faring, and once a day Tubbs had lied and smiled and said he was fine. 

“What was in those drinks, pentathol?” 

“Funny.” Tubbs tilted his head back and looked at Crockett sideways. “I can still revoke my offer any time, y’know.” 

The set of his eyelashes and his lips didn’t back up that threat, and neither did his hand, which had crawled further down Crockett’s thigh. 

Crockett swallowed. “What, you wanna see me beg?” He laughed through his words, trying to turn it into a joke. 

Before Tubbs could answer, the cab ground to a halt. In an instant, Tubbs’ hand was in his pocket, searching for his wallet, and Crockett’s arm was off Tubbs’ shoulders, feigning a yawn. They paid and thanked the driver, and stepped out into the downpour, body-warm and charged with electricity. With no umbrellas, by the time they ran from the road to the St. Vitus, they were soaked. 

Stumbling down the stairs, Crockett flicked the lights on. They kicked their shoes off and fumbled with their hands brushing each other’s bodies, not quite sure where to touch. Sandwiched between the tiny dinner table and the bottom step, they stood for a moment, dripping and smiling at each other like kids caught skinny-dipping. 

Crockett’s hand was on Tubbs’ waist, he realized. He dared to increase the pressure in his fingertips.

“Good thing we were planning on getting naked anyway,” he grinned, using those undercover acting skills to mask his terror. He felt like his solar plexus was contemplating an abrupt escape from his body through his spine. 

“No better time to get doused to the drawers,” Tubbs agreed, eyebrows arching up suggestively. He looked at Crockett with that half-lidded expression that was, for the first time, obviously readable as lust, and pinched his lower lip with his teeth.

Crockett leaned in to kiss him, pivoting against the hand on his waist.

He stopped short, other hand a centimeter from his jaw. 

“Um,” he cleared his throat. “Is it okay if…” Any sexual momentum grew wings and flew the coop. Why he thought he could handle any of this was a mystery not even Vice Squad could solve. “You cool with…” He gestured awkwardly, moving his hand back and forth between himself and Tubbs, like that meant anything at all. “Is kissing okay?”

Tubbs crunched up one side of his face in a mixture of confusion and annoyance. “Why wouldn’t it be?” He blinked rapidly, mouth set like he had just licked evidence and regretted it. “That’s like… half the fun, isn’t it?” 

Crockett caught his blinking. “I dunno, man, some guys are kind of weird about it.” 

“Oh, yeah.” Tubbs nodded, recognition dawning. “Pretty sure I’ve arrested that guy before— ‘sir, can you explain why you had your pants down on the train platform,’ ‘well, officer, I’m not gay, I’m just getting my dick sucked here at the 34th Street station during rush hour,’” he recited, widening his eyes as he played the receptive party. 

“Please tell me that really happened,” Crockett snorted.

“Same guy, once a month, like clockwork.” He shrugged. “Always 34th street. Always some story about not being gay, no matter how many times we told him the issue was not his choice of partner but that his dick was out in public.”

“Kind of sounds like he might’ve got off on getting caught.”

Tubbs snorted. “ _ Kind _ of?” He tilted his head to the side and stared at Crockett like he was modern art. “Sonny…” He squinted, mouth curling into a sympathetic smile. “If you’re not actually up for this…”

Crockett’s back and shoulders locked into a tight line, and he opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He wanted this. He had  _ dreamt  _ about it— Tubbs’ hands on his skin, his mouth against his chest and his back and his neck, his body pressed to his, all hot muscle and dark fuzz. But he was stuck, standing on the threshold of an open door. Stepping through would be so,  _ so _ easy, if only he wasn’t completely terrified that that door was going to slam shut behind him. 

He couldn’t be completely honest— he couldn’t tell Tubbs he was already afraid his feelings might not be entirely casual— but he could toe the line between honesty and excuses.

“Rico…” He put his other hand on his friend’s waist. “I am very much up for this. There’s just a little… performance anxiety, y’know?”

“Hey, we’ve had a few too many, I get it,” Tubbs dismissed his concerns, “everybody gets whiskey dick occasionally.” 

For a moment, Crockett felt his face starting to go hot, until he looked Tubbs in the eye. He was practically sparkling. 

He smacked Tubbs on the shoulder, face crinkling involuntarily into a grin. “ _ Asshole _ , I’m not talking about my ability to hold an erection. I just…” He looked down at his feet, lips pursed in concession. “Don't want you to…” He looked back up, feigning a bravado he didn’t feel. “What if we’re not sexually compatible? What if it’s  _ weird _ ?”

One side of Tubbs’ mouth went up, exposing his canines. He smirked so hard Crockett wondered if he had missed the punchline. “Then someday when we’re old men and we go on our yearly camping trip, after our grandkids are asleep, we’ll laugh about the time we tried to get it on and it was weird and we decided not to do it again.” 

Crockett couldn’t help but laugh at this image— white-haired and liver-spotted, side-by-side on a log, grilling a fish and a tofu steak, talking about the days of their wild indiscrete youth. He hoped he’d still have his hair. But he liked that Tubbs’ version of the future still had space for their friendship. 

“Alright, alright.” Crockett nodded. “But you’re not getting your money back if you leave unsatisfied.” 

Tubbs crumpled into silent, grinning laughter, and Crockett leaned in and kissed the corner of his mouth. His fit of hilarity continued as Crockett brushed his lips against his jaw and his ear and his neck. The tenor of his exhalations changed very suddenly as Crockett pulled him closer and started sucking the place where his neck met his jaw, and then just as suddenly Tubbs was sliding Crockett’s jacket off his shoulders. 

“I assume,” Tubbs swallowed, trying to speak without incriminating himself, “That you don’t want wet clothes on your floor?”

Crockett pulled just far enough away to talk, lips till brushing Tubbs’ skin. “We can toss them in the shower and deal with them later.” He loosened the knot on his partner’s tie and they started walking towards the bedroom like a sexy three legged race. Crockett tossed his jacket past the bed and onto the floor of the bathroom. 

Tubbs ran his fingertips down Crockett’s shoulders, down the lean muscle of his upper arms, down the fine blonde hair on his forearms, and traced over the back of his hands. His eyes flicked between Crockett’s eyes and his lips. Goosebumps rose all over Crockett’s rain-cooled flesh, and then Tubbs went for his belt buckle. He pulled his tank top out from the hem of his pants and up over his head.

Holding the garment and peering into the bathroom, Tubbs scowled. “How the hell do you live in a place where the bottom of your shower is literally your bathroom floor?”

“Oh, I know that one,” Crockett started, his tone blithe and sharp, “I got kicked out of my house when my wife left me and now I live on repossessed government property.” He finally managed to get Tubbs’ tie undone, tossed it into the aggrieving bathroom-shower combo, and started unbuttoning his shirt. 

Tubbs snorted, but underhanded the shirt anyway. “I didn’t mean how did you  _ get _ here, I meant how do you  _ stand _ it?” He pressed his lips and nose to Crockett’s neck and helped him out of his pants. 

Crockett breathed into the feeling of Tubbs’ mouth on him. “How the hell is it that I’m already mostly naked and you’re still business casual?” 

“I’m just better at getting people out of their clothes than you,” Tubbs joked, or maybe accused, muttering against Crockett’s jawline. 

Despite the creeping threat of erotic brain death, Crockett managed to unhook his partner’s last shirt button. Immediately Tubbs shimmied out of both his suit jacket and his button down, throwing them onto the growing pile of wet clothes. 

“Jesus Christ, Rico,” Crockett sighed, hands moving to his belt, “An undershirt, too? How are you not just  _ pouring _ sweat all the time?” 

Nose to nose, Tubbs punctuated each phrase with a gentle press of his mouth to Crockett’s skin. “Unlike you,” he started, lips to cheek, “I consider myself a professional,” then the side of his chin, “and dress accordingly.” He grazed the corner of Crockett’s mouth, and then pulled back to look him in the eye. 

His vanishing dexterity doing him no favors, Crockett fumbled with Tubbs’ pants button as Tubbs watched his face. A sly, contemplative smile lit his features; his fingertips brushed Crockett’s erection.

“How’s that performance anxiety?” Contemplation dissolving into mischief, he palmed Crockett through his underwear. 

Crockett rolled his eyes and pulled Rico’s pants down past his waist and his undershirt up over his head. Tubbs cackled. “You do this to girls, too, or is the snark special for me?” 

After shuffling out of his pants, Tubbs peeled his socks off and tossed the remainder of his clothes in the bathroom-cum-laundry room. He looked up at Crockett as he hooked his thumbs into the elastic of his briefs, and then pursed his lips in a air-blown kiss. “Just for you, partner.” He slid off his underwear and stood with one hand on his hip, naked as a jaybird. With his other hand he gestured expectantly at Crockett. “See, now I’m the one breaking the dress code.” 

The polite thing to do would be to oblige and strip. 

But it was impossible to do anything but touch Tubbs with him standing there like that, that single gold strand around his neck, dipping just below his clavicle, shoulders rounded, muscular arms askew, chest and belly carpeted with soft curls, hipbones trailing down to a prominent and inviting erection— 

Crockett grabbed Tubbs’ wrist and pulled him in close, chest to chest and stomach to stomach. The tips of their noses brushed, and then Tubbs’ hand was on the back of Crockett’s neck, and Crockett was holding his partner by the hips, pressing him tight to him, and their mouths were crushed together. Tubbs wound his fingers in the hair at the base of Crockett’s skull and pressed his tongue into his mouth. Crockett responded with equal fervor, lips bruising against teeth and stubble, his hand migrating down the curve of his partner’s back to his ass. Their skin, clammy from the rain, heated up as they flattened their bodies together. Tubbs pushed his erection up against the space between Crockett’s thigh and pelvis, and Crockett felt like his blood pressure was on the loop-de-loop section of a roller coaster. 

Tubbs bit down, just the teensiest bit harder than comfortable, on Crockett’s lip. It didn’t really hurt, but Crockett unconsciously brought his fingers to his mouth as Tubbs pulled away. 

“Take your damn underwear off, jackass.” He was grinning. “You’ve fathered a child, so I  _ know _ you’ve done this before.”

“I don’t know, man,” Crockett snorted, doing as he was told, “you might have to walk me through it. Since the divorce I guess I’ve forgotten how all this works.” Unencumbered by clothes, he let himself fall to the edge of the bed, leaning his arms back behind him. He cocked his head to the side and raised his eyebrows at Tubbs.

Tubbs sat down beside him, hand creeping to the inside of his thigh like it had in the cab. Nude, it was a somewhat different sensation. He turned to the side and gave Sonny that look he had been giving him since last spring. 

Crockett reached over and pushed an errant curl off of Rico’s forehead. “Hey, is that look a regular look or like, a, uhh, bedroom eyes kinda look, y’know?”

“What?”

The sigh that escaped Crockett’s mouth was sharp and accompanied with eye-rolling. He scrunched his mouth up and tried not to think too hard about the fact that it was probably things like  _ that _ that had given him away to Tubbs. He hated how much being annoyed tended to turn him into a bitchy teenager. 

He nudged into Tubbs with his shoulder. “When you look at me like…” He tried to make the face, chin tilted, eyes half-closed. “Is that just your face, or have you been flirting with me for like, six months?”

“Maybe  _ four _ months,” Tubbs corrected, eyes narrowed slightly. 

“God, really?” Crockett blinked and shook his head slightly. “I’m  _ really _ stupid.” 

“I mean, yeah, but,” Tubbs shrugged. “Can I be honest with you?” 

“Rico, you’re sitting on my bed with your dick out. I’d be insulted if you weren’t honest.”

“I spent a long time hoping you wouldn’t notice,” he admitted, peeking out from the corners of his eyes, playfulness and apology clashing. “So it worked out that you’re completely unable to take a hint.” 

“You know,” Crockett rasped, squinting at Tubbs from below his brow, “I have all your clothes in a pile in my bathroom, so you might want to be a little nicer to me, man.” 

“Is that a threat?” Tubbs laughed. “You gonna kick me out naked in the rain?” 

Crockett tried to keep a straight face, swallowing a snort of laughter. “Nah, wouldn’t want someone to call the cops on you.” He elbowed his partner in the ribs. “So we gonna fuck, or what?”

Tubbs elbowed him back. “You sure? At this rate I kinda thought you just wanted to talk all night.” 

With one hand on each of Rico’s arms, Crockett flopped back on the bed and pulled his friend on top of him. On his back, he moved one hand to Tubbs’ stomach and the other to his hair, just behind his ear, still damp from the rain. Tubbs leaned in and kissed him. He shifted his weight, putting one thigh between Crockett’s legs, and then rolled them both onto their sides. Without thinking, Sonny found himself grinding against him as they kissed. Tubbs matched his rhythm, slow but insistent, pressing need to need, hands in hair and on each other’s sides, the heat between them growing. 

Tubbs trailed his fingertips down Crockett’s flank, around his hipbone, to his ass. He squeezed gently and Crockett pushed harder against him, tongue and cock matched in their thrusts. A little noise of satisfaction escaped from Tubbs’ nose and he pulled Crockett closer, fingers digging deeper into the flesh of his rear end. 

Crockett came up for air, and between kisses pressed to his neck, asked, “So, why didn’t you want me to know?”

“Are you too drunk for context tonight or something?” Tubbs hand slid lower, down to Crockett’s thigh. He pulled his leg up over his hip, hand hot against the sensitive area where thigh met pelvis. “‘Cause I’m sure too drunk for riddles.”

“Why you thought it was good that I didn’t notice the look you’ve been giving me,” Crockett chuckled, before pulling Tubbs’ earlobe between his teeth.

He gasped, probably a little loud so close to Tubbs’ ear, as Tubbs slid his hand down to cup his balls. 

Tubbs kept talking, like this was the most normal thing in the world. “‘Cause it’s a dumb idea to sleep with your partner,” he confessed.

“What the hell are we doing, then?” Crockett teased, as if his lust didn’t have a molten core of terror.

“I made an executive decision that it’s only a stupid idea if you get caught, so we just won’t get caught.”

Crockett rolled over on top of Tubbs, pinning him to the sheets. He kissed his neck, just below his chin. “That’s a  _ dangerous _ sort of logic for an officer of the law to be following, Rico.” 

“You know me,” Tubbs rebutted, practically giggling as Crockett swept gentle kisses down the front of his neck, “just looking for some insight into the criminal mind.”

Reverently— so much more reverently than he wanted to, god— Crockett ran his hands down Tubbs’ shoulders and his chest and his sides. He dragged one finger from the bottom of his ribcage to his bellybutton, then down, following the thick trail of curls, wet-seal brown. He brought his mouth to Tubbs’ clavicle and followed the same path, kissing the rounded muscle of his chest, flicking his tongue across his nipples, sucking softly wherever his breathing got heavier. He kissed the firmness of his belly, and chased the v-shaped dip of his hips down with his tongue. 

As he moved to take Tubbs’ straining cock in his mouth, the reality of the situation broadsided him, a hazy, drunken wave of recognition. Against his better judgement— and apparently against Tubbs’, too— he was about to go down on his best friend. And somehow he was going to have to be completely mature about it, and not get weird or soppy or jealous or make too big a deal out of it or ever admit that this might never be enough for him. He slid his lips over the head of Tubbs’ dick. His heart felt like a paddleball on speed.

Rico’s eyes closed and exhaled sharply through his nose. Sonny pushed his mouth down his length, tongue pressed to the underside as he slackened his lips slightly to accommodate him dry. As he licked between his lips and Tubbs’ cock, wetting his skin, smooth and hot, Tubbs sighed and muttered “Sonny,” just under his breath.

Hearing his name in this context sent heat like unset jelly through Crockett’s chest and stomach, down to his cock. His knees were literally weak. Fingers onTubbs’ sides, thumbs pressed into the divots of his hips, he plunged his head down, wet suction on his shaft. He built up a slow rhythm, moving his tongue side to side along Tubbs’ erection in time with the bobbing of his head. Tubbs wrapped his fingers in Crockett’s hair.

He had wanted this for such a long time. Wanted to touch his friend, make him flutter his eyelashes and breathe heavy, wanted to feel the press of their bodies together, wanted to whisper sweetness and receive the same in return. How many times had he imagined this moment, Tubbs hard in his mouth, pressing his hips up for more leverage? How long had it been since the first time he dreamt of Tubbs coming at his touch? The heat of Tubbs’ body and the wanted intrusion of his weight against Crockett’s tongue were so solid and real, and yet their past echoes in Crockett’s dreams lent everything an air of fantasy. Maybe this was all just a drunken wet dream, he mused, and tomorrow morning he would wake up feeling sticky and bewildered and alone.

Tubbs made a quiet noise, somewhere between a grunt and a gasp. He stiffened slightly, and then tapped Crockett on the forehead with one finger. 

“Timeout?” 

Crockett let his mouth slide up and off his dick. “What,” he snarked, licking his lips, “We not having fun?” He grinned, lopsided and just a little unkind. “Need me to put on lipstick or something?”

Tubbs’ whole face scrunched up with laughter, and he smacked Crockett’s head with the backs of his fingers. 

“No,” he spat through a wheezy chuckle. “I think you’re pretty enough just the way you are, baby.” He pinched the tip of his tongue and lower lip between his teeth, very come-hither, and just a tiny bit sheepish. “I’m actually having a little too much fun, if you know what I mean.” He sat up, knees to his chest, and rested his crossed arms on top of them. 

Crockett sat back on his ass, legs curved out in front of him. He looked Tubbs up and down. “You’re real cute, you know that?”

“Yeah, that’s why people don’t usually turn me down for sex.” 

“Aaand you just got about ten percent less cute,” Crockett lied, squinting one eye. 

Tubbs shrugged his shoulders. “I can take the ding.” 

He reached out and touched Crockett’s hair, falling in his eyes, and then curled his legs under him. “So tell me,” he began, the back of his index finger tracing the curve of Crockett’s ear. “Where’d you learn to suck dick?” 

“Oh, y’know,” Crockett scoffed, tossing his head to the side, “Same place everyone does, classes at the Y.” He glanced at Tubbs’ vaguely exasperated expression. “What, are you looking for a serious answer? Think I need to re-enroll?”

The corners of Tubbs’ eyes crinkled. “I’m just curious.” 

“Okay,” he shrugged. “Vietnam, I guess.” 

Tubbs eyebrows converged in disbelief. “You’re this cagey about playing both sides here in the real world, but you fucked dudes in a warzone?” 

“Hey, buddy, dishonorable discharge is better than getting a leg blown off,” Crockett explained. “And besides,” he excused himself, “it was the seventies. We were all too stoned to bother figuring out who was straight.”

Tubbs shook his head, laughing quiet squeaky laughter through his nose. 

“Alright,” he sighed, flashing Sonny a hungry look. “Back to business.” He fanned his fingers across Sonny’s chest and pushed. He sank back against the bed. 

Rico straddled his waist, hand on the back of his neck, and kissed him hard. His nose crushed up against Crockett’s nose as he pushed their hips and mouths together. That feeling like unset gelatin wobbled back into Crockett’s limbs, and with his hands on Tubbs’ back, he went soft and pliable. Their tongues met, soft, then probing, and then Tubbs kissed the corner of his mouth, and then his lower lip, pulling it between his own. Their cocks slid together, slow but insistent with the rocking of their hips. Tubbs gathered Crockett’s face in his hands and kissed him hard, like the climax of a cheesy romance movie, and then pulled away with a grin. 

He shuffled his butt backwards so he was straddling Crockett’s ankles, and took his dick, red and almost painfully stiff, in his hand. Without breaking eye contact, he leaned down and kissed the tip before sliding his tongue across the ridge of the head. He stroked Crockett with his hand as he sucked the head, friction and suction in a syncopated rhythm that sent electricity through Crockett’s thighs. 

Sonny watched Rico’s eyes close, his lips pressing softly, and then tighter, tighter, as he brought his mouth down along his shaft. He moved his hand to Crockett’s balls as he swallowed down his length, cupping them with tender pressure. With his face practically buried in the sandy-brown hair at the base of Crockett’s cock, he glanced up from under his eyelashes. Crockett swallowed, back of his hand to mouth, and had to look away. He could literally feel Rico smile against his dick. His dreams had never been this good. 

“Hey,” he suggested, his voice raspy, “Why don’t you turn around?” He laughed, half to clear his throat. He sounded so desperate. “I feel kinda guilty lying back and letting you do all the work.” 

Tubbs’ mouth slid from Crockett’s erection with a pop. “Sonny, you know you got some kinda  _ complex _ , right?”

Crockett rolled his eyes. “You gonna take me to therapy or let me suck you off, pal?” 

“I can multitask.” 

Nonetheless, Tubbs turned around and knelt over Crockett’s shoulders. In an instant, he was back to work, mouth hot and wet, leaning on one hand as the other straddled the border between Crockett’s balls and the cleft of his ass. Crockett took Rico’s cock, dangling stiffly, in his hand and guided it into his mouth. It wasn’t much of a position for leverage, but he could do a lot with his tongue and his hand. 

With his mouth full, hot pressure on his tongue and soft palate, and his hands busy holding Rico’s hip and the base of his shaft, every little bit of friction and movement against his cock was making Crockett see stars. Fire shot up and down his thighs each time Rico’s mouth traveled down his length, and every time he pulled his lips back up, Sonny couldn’t help but thrust against his face. Crockett concentrated on Rico’s thighs, over his ears, watching the muscles contract when he tugged or licked him a certain way. It was  _ technically _ a distraction, but it was so damn gratifying to see his body react that more heat just pooled between Sonny’s legs. 

This time, he was the one who had to call a timeout.

Crockett let loose his grip on Tubbs’ dick and rapped on his buttcheek with his knuckles like he was knocking on a door. “Time.”

Tubbs choked, half with laughter, half with a mouthful of cock. He turned and peered over his shoulder.

“Did you just knock on my ass?”

“Yes.” Crockett shrugged. “Just giving you a heads up that I’m gonna be toast in about fifteen seconds if we don’t take a breather.”

Tubbs rolled over onto his side, bonking Crockett’s forehead with his knee. His eyes were glassy and his lips were red. He blinked, smiling lazily. He looked down at Crockett’s prone form, lips pursing slightly, eyebrows raising. 

“Y’know, if you wanted to,” he posited, a touch of reticence in his voice, shyness in the corner of his eyes, “I could fuck you.” He smiled like he was offering to buy Crockett an ice cream. “If you’re... uh, prepared and into that idea.” Interrupting himself, he added, “Or vice versa, of course, s’just been a little while.” He shrugged, slipping back into normal Ricardo-Tubbs-coolness.

Crockett licked his lips, trying to figure out how to say yes without sounding completely frenzied. He tried to affect the same level of cool, sitting partway up and tipping his head in the direction of the bedside table.

“I have lube and, uh, also condoms in the drawer,” he directed, answering without answering. 

Tubbs gave him a skeptical look. “I’m not trying to jump the gun or anything, so don’t just  _ yes _ me if I’m like… breaking some casual-sex-between-friends boundary by suggesting we do this.” 

“I’m pretty sure we’re allowed to make the rules up as we go along, Rico,” Crockett laughed. He nodded. “Let’s do it.”

Tubbs leaned over him and opened the drawer handle. As he fished out the necessary items, he held up a tube of K-Y. “What, no Crisco?”

“Fuck no,” Crockett howled, collapsing into himself with laughter. “Buddy, the  _ last _ thing I need is for some random chick to be calling me up in nine months for child support because the goddamn condom  _ dissolved _ .”

Moving to kneel between Crockett’s legs, Tubbs wriggled his eyebrows suggestively. “Alright, spread ‘em.” 

“Not gonna take me to dinner first?” Crockett goaded, lying back and positioning himself for easier access. 

Tubbs squeezed gel out onto his index and middle fingers and lightly rubbed them together. “Why should I? You’d just complain about the menu.” He capped the lube and pulled Crockett’s ankle up onto his shoulder with his clean hand. “‘Why’s there no steak?’ ‘Is this some kind of non-smoking joint?’ ‘Waiter, what am I supposed to do with all this rabbit chow?’” As he imitated Sonny-in-a-vegetarian-restaurant, he circled the tip of his forefinger around Crockett’s asshole. 

Sonny took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Rico pushed into him, just a little bit, testing him with a gentle stretch. He grabbed the lube with his other hand and squeezed a little more down the cleft of Sonny’s ass, letting it drip down to meet his fingers.

“Fuck that’s cold,” Crockett muttered. 

Rico rubbed the offending substance into his skin until it was warm and slippery, and then slid the tip of his finger back inside him. Sonny bit his lip as he pushed in deeper, slowly, and started working the ring of muscle with a gentle rocking motion. This went on for a while, slow and cautious, and Sonny’s breath kept catching every time he pulled out and pressed back in. 

And then suddenly he stopped.

Tubbs brows furrowed. “You sure you’re up for this? ‘Cause you seem to be having kind of a hard time relaxing.” 

Crockett could feel himself, tense around Rico’s finger, his legs and back stiff. He  _ did _ want this— hell, he had touched himself like this, thinking about Rico— but he couldn’t seem to stop feeling anxious about it. Maybe that was the problem— too much pressure. He had built this moment up in his mind for too long.

He made it into a joke. “Hey, I  _ told _ you performance anxiety might be an issue, man.” He threw his hands up. “I’m getting there!”

“Okay,” Tubbs nodded. “But seriously, tell me to stop if this isn’t doing it for you, okay?” 

Crockett took a long, slow breath in, focusing on how it  _ felt _ , really, and not how it  _ might  _ feel or how he  _ hoped _ it would feel. Warm and wet and a little bit invasive— not unpleasantly so. Stretch, mild, without a sensation of fullness. No pain. 

In short order, the steady slide of one finger, growing hot, was joined by another. The rhythm Rico had picked up fell off, and when Sonny opened his eyes, his partner looked concerned. 

“Sonny-baby,” Rico sighed, “if you want there to be any hope of my dick making it in there, you’re gonna need to  _ unclench _ .”

The diminutive sent waves of guilty endorphins through Crockett’s body, but he was right. There had always been occasions where his body would clam up on him, refusing to cooperate with what his mind wanted, but this had to  _ not _ be one of those times. What if next week Rico met the love of his life and they never got the opportunity to do this again?

He tried breathing into the sensation, but thinking about it just made it even harder to relax. 

“Talk,” he advised, mouth tightening as Tubbs slid both fingers deeper.

“About what?” 

Crockett looked up at him. “I dunno. Where did  _ you _ start messing around with guys?”

Tubbs smiled, and squirted a little more K-Y onto his fingers. “High school drama club.” He pushed the lubricant into Sonny, without hurry or discomfort. “Nothing serious, but you know how it is.”

Sonny laughed, breathy and shallow. “You were in drama club?”

“Yeah, I was.” He hooked his fingers and Sonny gasped. “That’s why I’m good at accents.”

“ _ ‘Good’ _ s overselling it a little,” Sonny nudged, breathy. He felt his cock twitch as Rico slowly slid both fingers in up to the knuckle. 

“You know, you’re in an  _ awfully _ precarious position to be antagonizing me,” he chuckled, briefly moving from gentle stretching to straight finger-fucking. 

“God, Rico, fuck,” Sonny gulped, vision going a little funny for a moment. When his partner slowed his pace, he looked him in the eye, trying not to appear too smitten. Chest heaving, he joked, “You know, if I had known you were in the drama club, I might have guessed sooner that you weren’t straight.” 

“Ha, ha.” Tubbs tilted his head to the side, tongue pressed into the inside of his cheek. “You know, I do  _ mostly _ like women.” More lube, this time on his fingers again. “I’m just flexible, is all.” 

The stretch started to turn to an inarguable sense of tight, hot fullness. He had slid a third finger inside. 

Sonny kept talking. “I mean, me too.” His voice felt like it was coming from somewhere else— some _ one _ else. He could hear the usual gravel in it, but the tight, breathy quality made it feel like it wasn’t his own. 

“Oh really,” Rico responded, or rebutted— his voice was full of insinuation as he slowly moved his fingers in and out of Sonny. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, y’know,” he murmured, eyes half-lidded. “You sure do look at a lot of guys for ‘mostly straight.’” 

“Okay, but I don’t chase ‘em,” he defended himself. “This isn’t exactly a common activity for me.”

Rico lifted his leg up a little for a better angle and this time, when he reached his knuckles, a sound escaped Sonny’s mouth involuntarily. 

Sonny was not going to win this argument. 

“You seem a little more comfortable.” Tubbs’ expression was pure mischief. He traced the fingers of his free hand along the underside of Sonny’s cock, and then stroked him from the head to the base, in time with the fingers inside him. 

Just a moment of that was enough for Sonny to be fisting the sheets, teeth firmly biting into the inside of his lip. 

Tubbs pulled his fingers out, and carefully tore open the condom wrapper with his clean hand and teeth. He rolled it down over his cock— Sonny noted with some satisfaction Rico was still as hard as he had been when he was sucking him— and then palmed one last line of lubricant over his sheathed erection. 

“You okay on your back?”

Sonny’s brain was oatmeal. The way he was feeling, he would be okay on the deck of the boat in the howling rain.

“Rico, you could tie me up and call me Betty at this point, and I wouldn’t complain.” 

He grinned. “Not on the first date.”

Sonny put his other leg up on Rico’s other shoulder, and Rico pulled him closer. He pressed the tip of his cock to Sonny’s ass and slowly, deliberately, pushed into him, centimeter by centimeter. 

Willing himself to breathe, Sonny watched Rico’s face as he entered him. His eyes fluttered shut and he licked his lips, mouth slightly agape. It was a tight push, but Sonny wasn’t tense anymore. Just for a second, some usually-repressed part of his brain suggested he might be able to come just from this, but in thinking about it, it was immediately rendered impossible. Maybe if he was a little less tired and a lot more stoned. But god, it felt good. Rico involuntarily thrust against him— maybe more like a twitch than a full on thrust— and they both muttered “ _ fuck _ ” at the exact same time.

Immediately, Tubbs opened his eyes and they plummeted together into hysterical laughter. Crockett covered his eyes in gleeful embarrassment, his face going hot and red. 

“That’s it,” he keened, twitching as each shake of laughter caused him to slide against Rico’s cock, “We’re not mature enough for this.” 

Rico leaned in close, also unable to stop laughing, and pressed his mouth to Sonny’s. The position put his knees practically up around his ears, and Rico was as deep inside him as he could possibly be given the laws of physics and anatomy. Sonny grabbed Rico by the back of the neck and kissed him back hard. 

Curled up, pressing him hard into the covers, Rico started to thrust into Sonny, both his tongue and his cock. Sonny ground himself against Rico, getting as much leverage as he could given his compromised position. As soon as they got into a comfortable rhythm, it was already almost too much. They would pause, and focus for a moment on the sensation of lips and teeth and stubble together, and then one or both of them would get too excited and start grinding again. 

When, for seemingly no reason, Tubbs sat back up, pulling that spectacularly hot mouth away, Sonny felt bereft.

Rico’s forehead was shiny with sweat, and that glassy expression had returned. He took a deep breath. 

“If there was a way for us to keep this going all night…” He mused, flashing a tired canine smirk. 

Sonny laughed. “I might die.” 

“Maybe next time, when we’re not three sheets and didn’t spend half the day chasing spies around.” He touched Sonny’s face with the back of his fingers. “How close?”

“Real close,” Sonny sighed, closing his eyes and pressing his cheek into Rico’s touch. It was a little too familiar, a little too femme, but to hell with worrying about how shit like that might come off right now. He was so incredibly overstimulated, brain a wash of booze and lust and guilt and pleasure, bow-string taut, that even a gentle touch like that was like acetylene against ice. So if he wanted to get a little warm and fuzzy, he was going to get a little warm and fuzzy, and it’s not like Rico had anyone to tattle on him to.

Rico palmed Sonny’s cock, circling his fingers lightly over his skin, and found a rhythm that got Sonny tilting his head back and breathing with a waver. He tightened the pressure of his hand and drew his hips up, sliding almost all the way out of Sonny before unhurriedly pushing back in. He kept this languid pace for longer than expected, his self-control apparently far greater than Sonny’s. It was, frankly, torture. Sonny couldn’t quite bring himself to ask for more— he wasn’t  _ actually _ going to beg, despite his crack at the beginning of the night. Instead, he found himself rounding his hips, grinding up against Rico’s length, trying to get him to shift into a higher gear. 

With all of this going on, Rico’s eyes kept twitching closed, and a quiet, wobbly gasp spilled out past his lips. He swallowed and watched Sonny with one eye, gaze cloudy and erratic. 

“Fuck, Sonny,” he whispered, not really addressing him so much as just feeling his name in his mouth. He thrust harder against him, faster, making all kinds of ragged, half-formed noises. 

Sonny felt like a wave about to break, cresting, all roiling sea and potential energy. Rico’s hand was burning hot, the slip of skin against skin bringing him closer with every stroke. The fullness and pressure inside him stretched that feeling out over every surface of his body; he itched with pleasure all over, his scalp and his fingertips and his thighs and his chest all hot and ready to crash. Rico’s thrusting had grown wild, intense, almost rhythmless, and he was angled in just such a way that Sonny’s vision was starting to go white, like looking into the sun for too long. 

The wave broke, abruptly, as Rico plunged into him; his thighs tensed and he came, splashing his stomach and Rico’s hand. Twitching and panting, Rico kept stroking him, cum pouring down his cock. Up against the shore now, his body felt like jelly. 

Rico’s pace only increased as he stroked Sonny through the aftershocks, thrusting desperately into him. He muttered a string of obscenity and nonsense and then leaned down and kissed Sonny hard, hoisting his hips onto his thighs and fucking him with wild abandon. Gasping, almost hyperventilating, he pressed his forehead to Sonny’s forehead and ground slowly to a stop. They kissed, sticky and hazy.

Nose to nose, breathing heavy, Rico managed to find just enough wherewithal to smile. Wheezy laughter, joyous and contagious, followed. For a moment, they just laid together, heads touching, giggling like teenagers. 

Taking a deep breath in, Rico sat up and pulled out, holding the base of the condom to his skin. He slipped it off and tied the end, his expression placidly amused.

He looked Sonny in the eye. “You gonna make it?”

Sonny snorted, and held up one finger, as if to say, ‘maybe in a moment.’ 

Currently, his brain was having trouble with words that weren’t either:  _ HOLY SHIT YOUR BEST FRIEND JUST POUNDED YOUR BRAINS OUT, ROCK ON MAN! _ or:  _ OH GOD WHAT HAVE YOU DONE, YOU FOOL? _

“You have a towel we can use to, uh…” He gestured at Sonny, and then at his own hands.

“Oh, lord,” Sonny laughed, “Um, just get the hand towel in the bathroom.”

Tubbs got up off of Sonny’s legs and stepped into the tiny bathroom, kicking their clothes away from the sink. He tossed the condom, washed his hands, and came back with the towel. 

Sonny took it from him and weakly wiped himself off, not quite ready to suffer the indignity of letting someone else towel the semen off his body. 

“That was…” Rico grinned, still a little blurry, “A hell of a lot of fun.” 

“It was pretty fucking great,” Sonny concurred, thankful exertion had probably made him red enough that the creeping blush wasn’t noticeable. 

Tubbs sighed, eyes tracing Crockett’s body. He  _ still _ looked hungry. “I don’t want my money back,” he insisted, mysteriously, with a little half-smile.

Crockett scowled to himself. “Do I owe you money?”

“You—” Rico’s half-smile scrunched into disbelief, and then an open-mouthed grin. “In the kitchen, you told me I couldn’t get my money back if I didn’t have a good time. I’m just informing you that I'm satisfied with services rendered.”

Sonny pressed the back of his wrist against his eyes, now blushing so much he could probably be seen from orbit. “I’m so fucking stupid,” he wheezed, laughing at himself. He sighed and looked Tubbs in the eye, despite his embarrassment. “I’m too old for this much partying, man. All this sex and booze just permanently lowers my IQ, now.” 

“Good thing you’re pretty,” Tubbs pouted, not an ounce of contrition in his body.

“Good thing,” Sonny yawned. 

He stood up from the bed, mostly clean, and tossed the towel into the laundry bin. “Now we won’t be able to go on that yearly camping trip, ‘cause my grandkids’ll have put pawpaw in a home for being too stupid to tie his shoes.” Over his shoulder, he cast an amative glance at Tubbs, who was now lying flat on the bed snickering. Still naked, he traipsed into the kitchen and past the table to the other bathroom, where he cleaned himself up more thoroughly. On the way back to the bedroom, he poured two glasses of water, and grabbed a hunk of cheese, a knife, and some crackers.

Tubbs watched him walk in, arms crossed behind his head, one ankle perched on the other. God, he was cute. 

“Hors d’oeuvres?” 

Crockett sat on the edge of the bed and placed the plate with the cheese on Rico’s bare belly, and handed him a glass of water. 

“ _ Christ _ that’s cold!” He lifted the plate off his skin with his other hand, and shuffled up to sitting. 

“Hangover prevention,” Sonny gestured. He gulped down half his glass of water and took the plate back from Tubbs, cutting a few slices of the cheese. Tubbs opened the crackers. Slices prepared, they both shoved crackers and cheese in their mouths like hungry raccoons. 

“You know,” Crockett mused, unceremoniously talking while chewing, “I kind of thought it would be awkward, after we finished, y’know? Like we’d be sitting here in silence thinking, ‘okay, what now?’” He swallowed, glancing at Tubbs.

Tubbs chewed, staring at him in return. As he finished, the corner of his mouth quirked up. “That happen to you a lot?”

“Pal, the first time Gina and I had sex, afterwards, she went into the bathroom, came out dressed, smiled and told me to  _ have a nice evening _ . She  _ bolted _ .” 

“Holy shit,” Tubbs swallowed, trying not to laugh. “And you didn’t give up then?”

Sonny shrugged. “She explained later she kept picturing Caroline.” 

“Didn’t know Gina was into your ex-wife,” Tubbs snarked. 

Crockett smacked Tubbs on the shoulder. “Not like  _ that _ ,” he objected, even knowing he was joking.

Stacking another slice of cheese on a cracker, Tubbs looked at the plate contemplatively. “Does Gina know you play for both teams?”

“What? No, god.” Sonny’s face scrunched involuntarily. “Why the hell would I have told her that?”

“Just curious, man,” Tubbs cracked, feigning apology. His brows furrowed very slightly. “Did Caroline know?”

Crockett’s eyes widened. “You’ve gotta be kidding me. Why would she have needed to know?” 

“Why  _ wouldn’t _ your wife know?” 

“Because I wasn’t going to fuck a dude while I was married?” He tried to look his growing, baseless panic in the face. It’s not like Tubbs was telling him to go out himself— he was just asking if he had told his previous partners. Sonny made an attempt at a joke, defusing his own anger. “You seem to be mistaking me for someone who isn’t so deep in the closet I’m basically still at the garment factory.” 

Nodding, Tubbs gulped his water. 

“So, is it just me, basically? Who knows?”

“Pretty much just you. Other’n a handful of army buddies, I guess, if they’ve got the brain cells left to remember.” Crockett sliced more cheese as he spoke. “I mean, up until I split with Caroline, it really didn’t matter.” He smiled, weakly. “To be honest, I kinda thought I had grown out of it, y’know?” 

“I get that,” Tubbs agreed. He elbowed Sonny. “You convince yourself you’re straight enough to count until you start thinking about how much you wanna bend your partner over his desk.” 

Sonny almost spit out his cheese and crackers. He covered his mouth and tried to laugh without choking. 

“What, that not how it happened with you?” Rico teased. 

“I would never fantasize about the precinct,” he insisted, a model of propriety. “Backseat of your car, maybe.”

“Hell no,” he shook his head. “You ain’t getting anywhere near my upholstery with your dick.” 

“Well there’s hardly room in the Daytona,” Crockett shrugged. He pointed to the plate. “You good on food?”

Tubbs nodded. 

As he got up and collected the plate and knife and crackers, Crockett looked at Tubbs’ still-naked body. “F’you want pajamas, there’s some shorts in the drawer under the bed.” 

He stepped into the kitchen, replaced the cheese in the fridge, and rinsed the plate and knife. 

From the bedroom, Tubbs asked, “Where do you actually keep all your clothes? You can’t possibly be hiding eighty suit jackets in the sorry excuse for a closet you have here.”

“In the other bedroom,” Crockett explained, quickly running a sponge over the dishes. 

“Wait, there’s a second bedroom?”

“Yeah, at the bow. There’s barely space to sit up on the bed, so I just use it for storage.” He came back in the bedroom to Tubbs pulling a pair of his boxers on. 

Seating himself on the edge of the bed, Tubbs glared. “I’ve slept on that tiny couch  _ how many times _ ?” 

Crockett grabbed a pair of clean underwear and an oversized sleep shirt from the drawer under the bed. “There isn’t even a mattress,” he clarified, pulling his underwear on. “You wouldn’t have slept any better in there.” He threw the shirt on over his head and stepped into the bathroom to brush his teeth. 

“What I’m hearing,” Tubbs sighed, “is that the  _ real _ benefit of this whole casual sex thing is just that I get to sleep in a damn bed when I stay over now, huh.” 

“Hey man,” Sonny spit, rinsing his mouth out. He sighed the rest out dreamily, lying through his teeth. “Nothing was ever stopping you from cuddlin’ up all cozy with me before tonight.” If Tubbs had suggested they platonically curl up in bed together before tonight, Crockett might have thrown himself in the ocean. 

Tubbs rolled his eyes. “You got a spare toothbrush, Cuddles?”

“Bottom drawer,” he offered, tapping the panel with his toe. He dried his face and exited the bathroom, sidestepping Tubbs as he entered. 

He climbed into bed and slid under the covers, watching Tubbs peel open the packaging on the toothbrush. He blinked slowly, drowsiness giving way to a floodgate of rather intrusive thoughts. Rico was about to get in bed with him, which was weird. They had spent the last half hour or so talking about Sonny’s bisexuality and joking about the fact that they had fucked, which was  _ really  _ weird. Sonny felt largely comfortable and unselfconscious about all of this, which was  _ really, really _ weird. And all of this was predicated, of course, on the increasingly-unrealistic-feeling fact that they were now— actually, legitimately, entirely for real— sexually involved. Already there was a growing sense that that was something two other people had done, or that maybe they had done it, but it was actually just some kind of joke. Really  _ thinking _ about the fact that he had just come with Ricardo Tubbs’ cock inside him was the mental equivalent of trying to eat pizza right out of the oven. He wanted to, but kept getting burnt each time he got too close.

Thinking about how strangely familiar and comforting it was to hear Tubbs humming as he washed his face and brushed his teeth was like trying to avoid the Miami sun. There was no safe way to wonder why that sound made him so happy, but it was impossible to ignore that the feeling was there. Sonny’s heart hurt just metacognating. 

Tubbs flicked off the bathroom light and scrambled under the covers. Crockett leaned over and turned the overhead light off as well. Rain plinked quietly against the window, merely a downpour now rather than a deluge. The soft, aqueous glow from the signs and searchlights of the marina outside illuminated Tubbs’ face. He laid on his side, eyes soft, about six inches away, one arm tucked under the pillow. 

Sonny rolled onto his back. If he kept looking at those grey eyes, he might do something stupid. 

“G’night, Sonny,” Tubbs breathed, a smile in his voice. “Let’s do this again sometime.” He chuckled to himself, and then rolled onto his back, and all the way to the other side. 

“Night, Rico.” Crockett reached over and, ever so briefly, grazed Tubbs’ shoulder with his fingertips. 

Tubbs made a soft noise of approval, the barest exhalation, and then in no time, he was sleeping the untroubled sleep of the exhausted and inebriated. Crockett closed his eyes and tried not to think too hard about how goddamn happy he was. 

He couldn’t remember his dreams, and he woke up before the alarm— a sure sign he had either slept very poorly or very well. He didn’t think he felt particularly hungover, so it must’ve been well. Greyish light filtered through the tiny cabin windows, and outside he could hear water lapping at the side of the  _ Dance _ . Seagulls crowed in the distance. 

The weight against his arm and ribs dragged him into full wakefulness. Tubbs was still asleep, his head on his shoulder and his hand pressed loosely to his chest. They hadn’t fallen asleep like that, and the warm half-light intimacy felt like a far more serious transgression than anything they had done last night.

His mouth was half open, and his curls were plastered to his forehead. Sonny wanted desperately to kiss him, to make this a different kind of morning-after than it actually was. He wanted to be able to think about a space where this could be something  _ real _ , without the taste of panic and guilt and bile at the back of his throat. 

But on the other hand, Tubbs was asleep on his shoulder. And they had made love last night, and it hadn’t been  _ weird _ or awkward or friendship-ending. And the very heavy implication had been that Rico would like to do it again, maybe even on the regular. And all of those were things Crockett wouldn’t have dared even dream before two weeks ago. 

There was, of course, no banking on any of it, but it was nice to have a little hope, for once. 

He resisted the urge to smooth Tubbs’ hair or touch his face, and instead turned to look at the clock, best he could at a completely inoperable angle. He had forgotten to reset the alarm last night with a mind towards picking up his car, but it was early enough that they’d be fine. He hoped he hadn’t been ticketed. He didn’t want to have to go flirt his way out of another traffic violation— one of these days Doris was going to get over the fact that he was younger than her youngest son and actually take him up on his offer of drinks. 

Tubbs stirred against him.

Talking into Sonny’s shirtsleeve, he muttered a cheerful, drowsy, “G’mornin’.”

“Hey there.” 

Tubbs rolled his head and eyes up to look at Sonny, but remained pressed against him. How he was so unselfconscious about all of this was a complete mystery.

“Your bed sucks,” he announced. 

Rico was hardly the first person to complain about the bed, undersized for a queen, wider at the head than the foot, and jammed in between built in storage and the back wall of the boat. It was okay for one, but tended to involve a lot of knees jammed in soft bits for two. 

“Couch is always free, buddy.” 

Chuckling drowsily into Crockett’s shoulder, Rico dragged his index finger in a lazy zig-zag down his stomach. 

“I will never, ever sleep on your couch again.” 

“What if I have a lady friend over?”

“She can sleep between us.” 

Crockett snorted. 

“Actually…” Tubbs leaned up on his arm. He narrowed his eyes.

“Your tone makes me think I’m not going to like whatever you’re about to suggest.”

“...next time we’re both hot for the same girl, that’s a  _ way _ better solution than a coin flip.” He pointed at Crockett with his free hand, eyebrows arced suggestively. “We can just both take her home.”

Sonny had entertained exactly that thought almost every time they were in that situation. Usually that had led to him feeling guilty and sick enough that he backed off altogether; Tubbs continued to labor under the belief that he was simply more irresistible to women. 

Well, he probably was, but that was immaterial.

“Sure,” he agreed, feigning neutrality on the idea, “If she’s into that.”

“Who wouldn’t be into that?” 

He sat up, sighing. His arm was numb. “Rico, whatever this fantasy world you live in is, I wanna move there.” He stretched his arms up over his head and yawned. “Want coffee?” 

“Yeah,” Tubbs agreed, without conviction. “Unless you think we have time to go get breakfast.”

Crockett looked at the clock again. “Not if we want to pick up the Daytona and also have time to go back to your place and get you dry clothes.” 

“Screw dry clothes,” Tubbs shrugged. “I want eggs and a buttered corn muffin more than I want a freshly pressed suit.” He swung his legs out of the bed and hobbled into the bathroom. He picked his button-down up off the heap on the floor and made a face like he was touching wet snakes.

Sonny laughed, and Tubbs dropped the shirt back on the floor. 

“If you’re that dedicated to breakfast, you can borrow something.” He threw the covers off and managed to convince his body to experience verticality. His hips ached like he had been running. “But you know Switek's gonna ask when we started sharing a closet."

"Hey, I slept on your couch last night. Castillo can vouch for the fact that we got caught in the rain and that I was too drunk to get home." He smiled beatifically, nonchalant and confident in his lie. "Besides, I can change when we get to the station. I don’t want to spend all day looking like I sell disco compilation tapes." 

"One, your comedy career is really coming along, huh?” He glared. “And two, sure, as long as you're okay fielding that question and I don’t have to open my mouth about it," Crockett acquiesced. 

Tubbs opened the closet and surveyed Crockett's clothes. "You act like you've never slept with a coworker before," he needled, throwing a sly smile over his shoulder. 

With an eye roll, Crockett started to squeeze behind him on his way out of the bedroom. Without really thinking, he stopped just as he was sandwiched between Tubbs and the bed.

"Yeah," he grumbled, snaking one hand up Rico's chest from the side, and the other hand to the front of his boxers. He kissed the back of his neck, hard, and squeezed him. "But not one who goes by 'mister,' pal." He released him and left the bedroom, instantaneously red from his hairline to his neck.  _ Dumb. So incredibly dumb. _

He stumbled into the unused bedroom and buried himself in the task of choosing something to wear. 

"Hey Sonny," came Tubbs' voice from the aft. 

He quietly cleared his throat, lest his voice come out in a sad horny crack. "Yeah?"

"Do you think we have time for breakfast  _ and  _ more sex?" 

**Author's Note:**

> The amount of time I spent trying to come up with a COOL, REFERENTIAL TITLE that somehow encapsulated the way of the samurai and 男色 and Castillo's relationship with Gretzky and how Crockett saw his own friendship with Tubbs... may have been equal to the amount of time I spent writing the fic. In a fugue state, I thought, "what if I do a Spanish translation of one of the titles of the stories in The Great Mirror of Male Love?" And then proceeded to remember that a) pretty much all of the stories in there are both tragic and full of underage boys, and b) I don't speak Spanish. 
> 
> Briefly I even contemplated some kind of Quantum Leap reference... because Dean Stockwell, I guess? 
> 
> And then I threw my hands up and settled on The Great Euphemistic Way of the Appliance Merchant, instead. A real microwave salesman knows when it's time to fold.


End file.
